Inside of Town Hall the townspeople are
having a meeting. What’s it to you, one of them asks
as I walk in and I say very little, smiling as they imagine
whether I mean what I say. Sitting in the corner
I see a voluminously arresting fruit plate. It’s brimming
with papaya, which I thought was out of season.
Mangos, too. And something that resembles eggs
but is not eggs. The Egg Problem is currently
under discussion. Tom of course brought it to the table,
and Frank thought it best to let it go, but you know
how these things go. In the Town Hall courtyard,
the egg trees continue their yields against reason.
The smell is confusing. Labradors lean their ears
into the wind, sniffing as the scent of the egg trees
pauses against their wet nostrils. The town dogs
are healthy, which is the most assuring sign of prosperity
we’ve had in a long time. It means a lot to all of us.
All summer the egg trees have tempted men
and women alike with their tapered shapes.
Tom doesn’t think we should stand for it.
Tom doesn’t really know what he is talking about
is the gist of Frank’s rebuttal. I tend to agree.
The light is very low. The coffee is of course terrible
and someone asks why these meetings always resemble
pancake breakfasts held in the basement of a church.
I think he means it more in spirit. The eggs remain unbroken
in their shells. Then Sarah makes an arresting contribution.
Papayas are an aphrodisiac. Mangos, too.